Rainbow

Drag City / Pedal;
2006/2007

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As longtime Boris fans can attest, you can always expect to be surprised by the
Japanese trio. On the heels of Pink, the band's straightforwardly eager
garage burner, a resurfaced Dronevil emerged, followed by Altar, their
swirling/droning/drum-soloing collaboration with Sunn0))) and
friends. Now Boris have thrown another curve ball with
Rainbow, their collaboration with Michio Kurihara. The seminal psych
guitarist played with PSF legends White Heaven, helped Damon & Naomi
reach an apex, and continues shredding in Ghost. So, basically, the collection finds a few of Japan's most
consistently face-melting, soul-stirring artists intersecting. They
land near the late 1960s then continue onward, radiating a dusky
Siltbreeze sound, Kurihara expanding Boris' reach
with his gauzy, moody, fretwork.

Pink's just about always described as a rock'n'roll album (see above), but despite the critical frame, a certain strain of Jesu and Ride fans pointed
toward the opener, "Farewell", as the album's sublime apex. If you're
in that hanky-holding camp, Rainbow should be a treat: It not only
revisits that shoegaze moment, but also includes lounge weirdness, toy-box balladry, and moody, stringed pyrotechnics.
Throughout, the addition of Kurihara staggers: Opener "Rafflesia"
takes what "Farewell" did so well, but pushes it even further,
Kurihara managing to nail stars with hypnotic
tone-benders.

There are other new sounds: Guitarist Wata handles vocals on the slinky title
track. "Starship
Narrator" takes off Siamese Dream-style, locating a bluesy guitar
scorch before it dries out amid a flood of Can-loving amplifier
worship. Continuing the haze in a gentler realm, a Loren Connors-esque
guitar unwinds to full flutter on the moving, all too brief "My
Rain", with tape-noise lapping up the dampness in the background.

The closest we come to Ghost's fathomless psych-folk is "Shine", its
troubadour rattle eventually blooming into a somber, echo-chambered sound. There's a depth to the production here that's quite different from the
upfront immediacy of Pink. Helping slightly to warm the vibe, "You
Laughed Like a Water Mark" seduces downcast, stoner-friendly, monotone
psychedelic rock: Kurihara's guitar steamrolls as the song continues
its seven minutes, ending in a flurry, even as the rest of the band maintains a consistent doze. The hazy "Fuzzy Reactor" would've made an excellent finale: With its
unidentified wind source and backward tape, it sounds like a retreat.

Inevitably, Boris keep pushing: "Sweet No. 1" closes this quiet-is-the-new-loud ramble with a rock
dervish. It starts slow (much of it feels more like a strum exercise)
before a stutter-step guitar strut. But this isn't
Comets on Fire: It's burnt, damp, and saturated. Thing is,
it also seems a bit unnecessary. And it's a solid track-- don't
misunderstand-- but it comes across like a party crasher, drowning out the
slow-release of what came before, only to return to the quiet toy-box
mini-orchestra outro, "...And, I Want".

Sick of Boris? It's easy to feel worn out amid the big-time
magazine features, hectic release schedule, and endless touring
(and, well, seemingly endless live sets-- sorry folks)? I was almost at the
end of my own Boris rope, but Rainbow gave me
a jolt, sounding a lot like something that would've set up camp on my
turntable a dozen years ago when I memorized those Forced Exposure
catalogues. It's vintage and totally invigorating. The immediate Pink
punk-slap isn't here, but where the former nails one hue and keeps
running with it, I can imagine this new, deeper set keeping me cozy for years to come. It's already eerily familiar.